


shifted slightly left

by rarmaster



Series: YWKON [15]
Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen, MITHOS AND ANNA GET A WHOLE CHAPTER TO THEMSELVES!!! INCREDIBLE, XC2 AU, squinting at Colette's bad brains like oh no we made them worse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2020-06-30 01:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19842487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rarmaster/pseuds/rarmaster
Summary: YWKON, but... shifted slightly left, thanks to RP shenanigans (more details in notes). The beef of this nonsense isn't here, because it's an RP thread and fuck formatting that for AO3, but here's a collection of oneshots I wrote set within this continuity and wanted to share.Not canon to YWKON itself, of course, which I guess makes this an AU of an AU, but ya'll know I'm a slut for character interaction brought on by unexpected scenarios, so! (Plus like, Anna gets to interact with Mithos and Martel in this version of things, so ofcourseI'm gonna play around with that!!)





	1. par for the course

**Author's Note:**

> the RP shenanigans, fondly referred to as "we broke YWKON", are set 10 years before the main events of YWKON kick off. In sum: ToS Sheena gets tossed into an alternate universe and frees Aegis Zelos, and Things Kind Of Just Go From There. ToS Lloyd is also here. Anna and Malos get to be major characters. We made both artificial Aegis' lives worse. It's fun! Except when it's suffering!!
> 
> [You can read the main thread here!](https://summonerd.dreamwidth.org/500.html?view=flat&page=1) A list of all the side threads is [here!](https://docs.google.com/document/d/14BFBw8cBYwP09NnQlrTxafATofnKBh3vLmgimthP-PU/edit?usp=sharing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jin and Lora, at the start of this bullshit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted some practice writing Jin so i just. did a practice scene re: the start of the RP shenanigans.

It’s suspiciously quiet, for this time of day. They arrived on the morning train at Meltokio station, and though getting through security took much longer than usual (no surprise, given the news going around—Tethe’alla’s Aegis. _Stolen._ ) it was still before noon. They should be able to hear chatter from Malos and Anna, since Anna didn’t have to be on campus yet, or at _least_ Malos cajoling Anna out of bed, but the house was quiet, and when Jin knocked on the door, no one came to answer.

Hm.

“Well, it’s a good thing we have a key,” Lora laughs, though for all the joviality she puts on, her smile is kind of tight as she reaches into her bag to retrieve it. Anxiety plays a quiet song along their ether link.

It wouldn’t exactly be a surprise if their family had gotten into trouble of some sort. Honestly, it’d just be par for the course. Jin still hopes it’s not the case.

Lora lets them in, drops her things on the floor. House looks empty. Lora crosses the front room so she can call up the stairs: “Anna? Malos?”

Malos’ ether signature is decidedly absent.

Jin sighs a little, disappointed. ( _He tries to remain disappointed, rather than nervous. Unfortunately it looks to be weeks since anything in here has been moved._ )

“They aren’t here,” Jin tells Lora. He doesn’t have to elaborate that the ether is empty. Lora can guess.

“Well, look around, hopefully they left a—oh! See?”

Lora, always moving a little faster than Jin, has already made her way to the dining room before Jin has even gathered the will to move at all. Lora pops her head back out, waving a paper in Jin’s direction. A note. Some of Jin’s anxieties begin to melt. A note is a good sign.

Lora straightens the paper out and reads it in the time it takes Jin to cross the room. Confusion-surprise-fond resignation hit their ether link, in that order. Rather than explain, Lora just passes the note to Jin.

Malos’ handwriting, which makes Jin smile before he’s even really read more than a word.

The note reads:

> _Yeah, we had something to do w/ that. Figured we might as well go save the other one since we couldn’t exactly stick around._
> 
> _It’s more complicated of course, but that’s about as much I’m willing to put into writing._
> 
> _Maybe you can catch up w/ us? Not like we’ll be moving fast._
> 
> _Love you <3_
> 
> _Malos_

Malos doesn’t have to specify for Jin to understand what exactly he’s referring to. Of course Malos and Anna had something to do with the Aegis vanishing from Meltokio’s castle. Of course they did. Jin would probably be more surprised if they _hadn’t_ been involved.

“Few years ahead of schedule,” Jin sighs, fond. He folds the note up with crisp precision and tucks it in his pocket.

Lora puts her hands on her hips, her smile wide and equally fond. “Have we ever known Anna to be patient? Or Malos, for that matter?”

“No,” Jin admits.

Perhaps there is something wistful in his tone, or in the emotion bleed, because next thing Jin knows Lora is crossing the room again, her smile soft and understanding. She wraps a hand around his wrist.

“Hey,” she says, gentle. Her touch is warm, almost burning. Jin belatedly realizes he’s making the ambient ether drop in temperature (“ _perks” of being an ice blade_ ) and tries to rein it in. “I was really looking forward to seeing them, too. Anna was going to _riot_ once I told her about that one fellow, and the dogs—”

Jin chuckles. Lora smiles.

“Why don’t we get moving?” Lora suggests. “Malos is right. It shouldn’t take too long to catch up to them.”

Jin hesitates. “It… could be suspicious for us to arrive and then immediately leave. If anyone is following them—”

“I don’t think us immediately boarding the train is going to bring _that_ much suspicion, plenty of people stop briefly in Meltokio before continuing on,” Lora counters. “And anyone watching us would _also_ have to know what Malos and Anna were involved in, and that we know them! Besides, we’ve _heard_ the news—”

And the news contained no mentions of Anna or Malos, as far as they could tell. A single, blurry photo of a girl neither of them know, a description they didn’t recognize as one of theirs. Jin does his best to relax. Lora has a point.

He would tease he for just being overeager to see her sister, but he really has no room to talk, considering how much he misses his husband, how disappointed he is that he hasn’t already seen Malos today.

He gives in.

“Alright. Let’s go find out when the next train departs,” Jin says.


	2. i just wanna be useful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from President Heartbeat by Everything Everything, which we _usually_ use for Aegis Zelos, but. artificials the same.
> 
> content warnings for suicidal thoughts, as well as the rest of the bad brains cocktail Colette has after years of neglect and abuse

No one talks to her, much. But she hears whispers.   
  
_"Tethe'alla's Aegis was stolen."_  
  
_"Now's our chance."_  
  
Whispers on every side of her. Either they don't think she's listening, or they don't care that she is.  
  
_"Are you sure? We haven't finished testing, we have no idea if either blade will survive the procedure--"_  
  
_"So? It's not like she works, anyway."_  
  
It's not like they've ever cared about her before.  
  
_"And what happens if we don't have an Aegis to show, anymore? We'll be the same as Tethe'alla--"_  
  
_"We've been bluffing about the cannon working for decades. We can bluff about this, too."_  
  
They lead her to a room, sparsely decorated, and sit her down at a table. She sits perfectly still and perfectly straight, wanting to please them, appease them, even though nothing about the way she looks or acts is going to make that difference. The thing they want from her is the one thing she can't control. Someone sits down across from her, explains the situation as if she doesn't already know it. She pretends she's listening, but she can't pull her thoughts away from the shards of an emerald green core crystal that sit on the table before her.  
  
The ether around the core crystal feels--broken. Sick. She wonders if the blade dormant inside is suffering. She wonders if they are even aware of their pain.  
  
If she could help them...  
  
( _If she could be useful..._ )  
  
"I'll do it," she says, before they even ask. (Asking is just pleasantries, anyway. She couldn't have said no.)  
  
The person she's talking to seems surprised, though not concerned. "Are you sure?"  
  
( _If she never had to bear the weight of being unwanted, imperfect, ever again..._  
  
Even if all this got her was oblivion....)  
  
"I'm sure," Colette says.  
  
She has never been more certain of anything in her life.


	3. tick tick tick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was absolutely the worst thing we did to Colette and Martel in RP shenanigans
> 
> content warnings for: Colette's usual bad brain cocktail + Martel _not fucking helping_

They run.

They don’t make it far.

Their driver still tells them to run but they’re ten years less experienced, which means the only thing they really do for the Aegis—Aegises?—is not get in their way. They’re found out quickly. Die a lot sooner.

Not that it matters, much.

Even if they had made it to the fields of Iselia, no one would have found them. Dirk was busy today with a backlog of orders, didn’t leave the house. Lloyd was busy playing with his friends—elsewhere. Not near the fields. Not near enough to have found a dormant core crystal.

Sylvarant’s government finds them again.

 _Don’t resonate don’t resonate,_ Martel spits, desperate, in the depths of the dormancy’s sea.

She sounds—terrified, angry. Those feelings press against Colette’s own chest. She spins over herself in the ocean they swim in, tries to find Martel—finds a woman, clutching her chest, fingers digging into her arms. She’s scared.

Colette’s scared too.

They both know they didn’t make it far.

They don’t know—not for certain—who it is who picked them up, but—

 _Don’t even risk it,_ Martel says, teeth bared. _Don’t even try._

( _In another world, another lifetime, she would have tasted the almost-Kratos pull of Lloyd’s ether, and would have been less adamant about refusing a resonance._ )

Colette clutches at her own chest, crosses her arms against Martel’s intrusive fear.

 _But,_ she begins, _how will we escape if we’re dormant?_

_(tick. tick. tick.)_

Martel laughs. Bitter. It’s unlikely she’s missed the irony of this—just hours ago Colette had locked up terrified, too scared to leave, and now _Colette’s_ the one suggesting they do something while Martel insists they stay put?

 _Trust me,_ Martel says. _If the wrong people have us… if we_ wake up…

Normally, she holds the memories back, where Colette cannot see them. But she’s angry and she’s scared and so she decides to be a little cruel. Pulls back the curtain on her worst memories.

 _(strapped down wires in her ether pulling pulling pulling a pain that never fucking stopped_ )

Colette cries against the feel of it, curls in on herself, the swiftness of the action and the pain sending her spiraling through this ocean of sleep, head buried in her knees as Martel watches, vindicated, her feelings still too-sharp, too-bitter.

 _It’s better if we don’t wake up,_ Martel says. _Better we stay here forever, than—_

 _Okay,_ Colette agrees, weakly.

The curious touch of another’s ether probes at them anyway. A request. A demand.

( _Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick._ )

 _You have to ignore it,_ Martel says.

Instead of crying that she’s _trying,_ she is, Colette just bites her tongue and keeps her mouth shut. That’s what Martel wants from her, isn’t it? To be quiet. Be good. Do as told.

( _Tick tick._

_Tick tick tick tick._

_Ticktickticktickticktick—_ )

She resonates.

When they wake up, it’s in the cannon.


	4. the Kranna argument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Kratos voice) where the FUCK is my son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> though this could be a mirror of a scene for YWKON itself that I just never wrote, it's more of a funhouse mirror. because no one actually has any idea where baby Lloyd is right now (ok, he's 8 and not a baby, but still). And since no one knows where he is, Kratos is _a lot_ more upset with Anna than he would be in YWKON canon. like, yes. not knowing she was alive for years? sucks! but in YWKON canon, in the alpha universe-- when he finally talked to Anna, he at least knew Lloyd was alive, and had grown up safe and loved. He does not have that peace in this universe. and so,
> 
> ((this is a lil bit stream of consciousness))

"Besides," Zelos says. "Lloyd's all alone. Someone's got to check in on your son." And he leaves.

And there’s like a moment

And then Kratos fucking snaps

“Yeah I’d love to check on my son but I _don’t know where he fucking is_ ” and he shoots a very pointed look at Anna and he. Knows. He Knows that that is not the Lloyd that Zelos meant, he knows Zelos meant the Lloyd sitting back at camp, but that Lloyd is fine and an adult and can take care of himself and his Lloyd is _a child and all on his own, somewhere out in the world and they don’t know where_

Anna just kind of. Sighs and. “Alright,” she says. “We doing this now, then?”

Kratos takes one look at her and then turns on his heel and starts to follow Zelos towards camp because he wanted to talk to her but now he just. he’s so.

“Not enough time,” he tells her.

And she doesn’t chase him she doesn’t reach out to grab him (of course she doesn't, she would never) but she does raise her voice.

“Kratos Aurion don’t you fucking dare, if you’re gonna be mad at me at least let me explain—you probably won’t be any less mad at me but I will _not_ have you mad on assumptions instead of the truth!”

“We’re wasting time,” Kratos spits.

( _They aren’t, really. He’s thought about it long enough and realized that—Mithos has already left, is already moving on Sylvarant. They would never catch up to him, he’s had hours, and he can fly, and that’s his sister and there’s no way he’s WAITING, so Kratos has to make it to Martel fast, but,_ )

“You’re the one who fucking brought it up,” Anna counters, and.

They’re standing in the trees, Kratos with his back to her, hands clenched and trembling, and Anna’s—pissed, sort of, even though she shouldn’t be, and Kratos is. He doesn’t know what he is. Angry. Sad. Happy, in a way, to hear her voice, to hear it outside of his distorted memories, hearing her alive and okay and.

He missed her.

But he’s angry and she’s angry and he wishes they weren’t but how could they _not_ be?

The lack of contact, maybe, he could forgive, five years is long but it’s over, now, isn’t it, but. Architect. Lloyd. How can he forgive Lloyd? Lloyd is a child, and he doesn’t know any better, will not understand why his parents left will only understand they are gone and now Lloyd might hate him for this, and it’s **_not his fault_** and that **_isn’t fair_**

“Please Kratos just let me explain,” she says.

He sighs. Turns to face her.

“…please do,” he tells her, bitterness on his tongue

“Can I start by saying I’m so sorry?” she says, and her anger becomes slow despair and guilt. “I’m. I wasn’t really thinking, clearly, about the whole mess and I’m. Kratos I wish I could go back in time and not make that mistake because architect I’ve missed you so much and I know you must be so mad at me—”

“Why did you not tell me?” Kratos interjects, because it. Those five years _hurt,_ even though she’s alive now, he can’t shake the feeling that. She shouldn’t still be dead. That this isn’t fucking happening. That he is dreaming, or hallucinating, or—something. Why was it so hard to say _she was alive._ “It’s not like- I mean you _knew_ where to find me.”

Anna sobers again, despair in her throat. “I know, I just. fuck. It’s so stupid.”

“Well I’d rather a stupid reason than assuming that you hated me, faked your death to avoid me—”

“I did not!!!”

“Five years, Anna, and you couldn’t at least tell me you were _alive._ ”

“I,” She scowls. Swallows. There’s a weight in her eyes, a sadness, a grief, wrestling with a bad decision and she squirms like she does when she doesn’t’ like her answer but has to own it, anyway, because there is no other option for her. “It’s so dumb. Okay.”

“Just tell me, Anna.”

“…I was scared of Mithos.”

“…pardon?”

“Like I said! Its’ dumb!” she shouts a little, either she throws her hands up or she just kind of grips at her pants knuckles tight and white, right fist shaking “But you know the rumors about his tower.”

“I started the rumors,” Kratos interjects.

“yes, and. I dunno. I thought maybe. I mean he hates me.”

“That’s not--” Kratos begins, but actually can’t. finish that one. He can’t. he’s not happy but anger has turned into cold, quiet horror—he doesn’t want to think about it but Mithos’ look of despair and the carefully articulated horror, the taste of _`oh Kratos, I had no idea`_ still thick on his tongue. Mithos would never, he wants to believe, but which is worse?

The fact that your wife thinks your brother might have tried to kill her?

Or the fact that there’s a chance she isn’t wrong?

He’s quiet long enough that it worries Anna.

“…Kratos?” she presses, carefully, “I know, I know, Mithos would never, or—whatever, it is, you’re going to say, and I’m sorry I didn’t trust him, didn’t trust _you,_ because if you’d been there of course Mithos wouldn’t have tried shit, or I could have sent—I dunno, Nia I guess.” ( _The only other person alive that would be safe to send would be Malik and he’d had so much on his plate with Sophie that Anna didn’t want to ask more of him even though Malik it seemed would do anything for her._ ) “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“…where’s Lloyd.”

“I’m.”

“Anna.”

“Safe?”

“ _Anna where is our son._ ”

“…I don’t know,” she admits, shoulders hunched, not looking at Kratos. Kratos knew this, but he needed her to admit it. “I’m sorry. Lloyd—that Lloyd—” she nods in the direction of him “says hes’ probably in Iselia, and- and he and Dirk were out of town when the. When it happened, you know. So. He’s probably still with Dirk. _Safe._ ”

“Being raised by a man who isn’t his parents,” Kratos interjects, jealous, upset.

“Well,” Anna says. “I mean. Fuck. I know. I should have—looked for him. But I didn’t want. To raise him on the move, you know? It’s dangerous, like that, and he’s so young, and”

“And he’s being raised by a man who is not his father,” Kratos interrupts, again. “He may not even remember us, Anna.”

“Well.”

“ _That’s not fair, Anna._ ”

She flinches. “I’m sorry.”

“If you were worried about his safety, you should have brought him to me.”

She scoffs. “And you would have raised him in the tower with _Mithos!?_ ”

Kratos scowls. “You’d rather he be raised by a stranger than his own father?”

“I’m just saying if Mithos hates me, then—”

“ _If Mithos had even thought of hurting Lloyd, I would have left,_ ” Kratos insists, firmly, scowling at Anna. “Honestly, you don’t trust me that far?”

“I mean, you love Mithos.”

“Not enough to let him hurt my son.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“You better damn well be.”

Silence, for a few minutes.

Quiet, from Anna: “…are you mad at me?”

“I haven’t seen my son in five fucking years and that’s _not fair!_ ” And here’s a flash of anger, anger that’s been slowly building, and he just. lets it out. “I miss him and I didn’t even get to watch him grow up and I’m. that’s not fair, Anna. That’s not fair.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I know, I mean—I didn’t get to see it, either—”

“No, but you _chose_ that,” Kratos counters, full of fury that’s a little more than about Lloyd. “You _chose_ not to see him grow up, but I didn’t get to choose. You chose _for me._ ”

(And of course it is about more than Lloyd. He is furious about Lloyd, but this is a blatant disrespect of everything they have ever built between the two of them, he has been had choices taken from him too many times before, and she is a human driver, denying a blade—even if not her blade—( _but then, factor Malos into the equation, and it is the same_ )—a choice because _she_ decided what she thought was _best,_ without any input from him at _all,_ and. That _sucks._ )

Anna realizes it, of course. She realizes just. how badly. She fucked it.

And she,

Mouth full of horror,

“I’m sorry,” she says. “Kratos I’m _so sorry,_ I’m so sorry. I’m. I wasn’t thinking. Please know that I don’t regret anything more.”

“Noted,” and that one note answer probably hurts, hurts more than anything else.

“I’m sorry.”

“And I appreciate that." He does, but is shrug is sharp and his bitterness still on his face. "But I don’t think I can exactly forgive you for this.”

“…that’s fair,” she admits, sighing.

“But I…” Kratos begins, pauses, takes a deep breath, a little stuck. “I don’t want this to be the end of us, either.”

“Oh,” she’s kind of surprised, mostly relieved

“So.”

“So…?”

Kratos takes a second, because words for his feelings are hard and he should probably ask her for more time to think but he’s pretty sure, pretty sure this is what he wants, and if he changes his mind she’ll respect that, so: “I want to try,” he says. “I- you’re-” he gets caught on _I love yous_ and _you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to mes,_ until finally he settles on: “I’m happy you’re alive. And I don’t want to lose you again. So. I’ll try and forgive you. Or at least… we can try and figure out a way to… move on, somehow.”

“Okay,” Anna says, smile shaky. “Okay, I’ll. Okay. Thank you. What the fuck.” She’s crying, a little, scrubs at her eyes, feels like she probably doesn’t deserve it but isn’t going to tell him that, isn’t going to turn him down, obviously she doesn't want this to be the end of them, either. “Thank you.”

“…I missed you,” he admits, at length.

“I missed you too?? So much,” she says and she. Sounds like she means it. And she’s smiling so happy and that’s, a relief, in a way. That she’s still happy to see him. “I’m. fuck. I didn’t realize how hard being away from you was until—I mean I _missed_ you and it _ached_ but I didn’t realize how bad until. It didn’t ache anymore. Fuck I’m such an idiot.”

And he’s touched but he’s still mad so what comes out is:

“Clearly.”

“Hey.”

“…but then you’ve always been bad at making good decisions,” and it’s kind of fond, a little begrudging, an easy pattern that he missed.

And her anger is mostly fond, mostly resigned, because she deserves this.

“I’ve made some good decisions, though,” she argues.

“Name one.”

“Marrying you.”

“I. Oh. What the fuck.”

“You set yourself up for that one!”

He’s fond and kind of mad because he _did_ walk into that one and she’s grinning and fond and he forgot how much he missed her smile, the little cocky pull of her tone, and. Fine. Alright. Maybe they can figure this out. Maybe they can make this work.


	5. resonance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not even certain if this will HAPPEN in the thread but it makes me soft

Tucked into his side, one arm looped around his waist, the other tracing the ether lines on his opposite arm, slow and gentle, a persistent unchanging rhythm—soft and soothing and _gentle,_ something she knows he can tolerate, something she knows he rather enjoys as much as she does. She traces the pattern in his skin, laser-focused and enjoying his presence, as he hums softly, content.

It’s so little, she treasures it close.

Lets her fingers wander, just a little. Now’s a bad place and probably a bad time, but she trails her fingers over his chest, until her thumb brushes his core crystal. She runs it over the warm stone, back and forth a few times, relishing the rumble in his gut, the quiet laugh in his throat.

“Now, Anna, really?” he asks, softly, though he doesn’t sound upset.

“I can stop,” she tells him. But she likes how not-tense he is, right now. She likes how he’s relaxed. She likes the delighted little hum in his throat, knows he’s enjoying this even if now really is a bad time, and she doesn’t want to stop, not really. ( _Architect, she missed him so much._ )

“Mm,” Kratos hums, and the hum edges a little out of content into a little more urgent, and she shivers at the sound. “Perhaps you should,” he warns, gentle.

Anna laughs. “Yeah, probably,” she allows, pulling her thumb away at least even if her palm is still pressed to his chest. “One more?”

“I suppose,” he tells her, and it’s fond, playful.

She bends in to kiss it instead, intending to be brief and chaste, a silent promise for something later ( _whenever they can eventually get around to it_ ), desire thrumming persistent if quiet in her belly. To her surprise the moment her lips meet the stone, there’s a rush of warm ether around her, in her veins, and she pulls away abruptly, distancing from Kratos in her shock, but—

The deed’s been done.

“Oh,” Kratos says, sounding incredibly surprised.

He doesn’t just sound it. He _feels_ it. A knot of Kratos’ shock sits in the back of Anna’s mind.

She laughs high and startled, really unable to peg what she herself is feeling in regards to what just transpired.

“I’m,” she says. “What. Did you just.”

“ _Oh,_ ” Kratos says again, and it’s with a sinking realization that Anna tastes as well as if it were her own.

“Did we just _resonate_??” Anna squeaks, still trying to process it but—yeah, holy shit, Architect above, she knows what foreign emotion bleed feels like and she knows that’s not Malos’, and she can _feel_ ether wrapped neatly around her, ether that also isn’t Malos’, and, what the fuck, what the fuck, _what the fuck!!!_

“We…” Kratos says, scowling a little. He looks so _confused_. If Anna weren’t freaking out a little, she’d appreciate how cute that look is on him. “I… believe we did.”

“That’s impossible.”

“In theory.”

“Holy shit.”

Gentle concern presses against their ether link— _against their fucking ether link that ties them together_ —and Kratos shifts and sends Anna a Look, between concerned and curious, red eyes peeking out from beneath his hair.

“Are you… did you not _want_ to resonate with me?” Kratos asks, carefully.

“I mean I’m not against it,” Anna says, immediately, because she isn’t. She really isn’t. “It was just—I mean I wasn’t _expecting_.”

“Me neither,” Kratos admits.

“So you did that on _accident_.”

“Honestly, if I’d known I could do it purposefully, I might have asked if you wanted to a long time ago.”

Anna blushes despite herself. He’s so _honest_ and _genuine_ and she loves him so much.

“Well,” she stammers, trying to think around how overwhelming this is, because it’s kind of a lot even if she doesn’t _dislike_ it, of course she doesn’t dislike it, it’s _Kratos_. “I mean—are _you_ okay with this?” she asks him, to make sure. “Because if you aren’t—”

Kratos shrugs. “I’m… I admit, it’s weird being in resonance from this end,” he says. “But I am not against it. I trust you, after all.”

He trusts her.

Oh, _Architect,_ he does.

She knew he did, she’s always known that, he’s said it and he’s shown it, the depths of his trust, but now she _feels_ it. She _feels_ how much he trusts her, and it’s more overwhelming than anything else going on right now, it wraps her up like it’s a blanket and it’s winter, like it’s a shield against the cold. She clings to it, holds it close, holds it and Kratos’ shy joy like they’re both treasures, sits there and lets them warm her from head to toe.

“I’m. Can I kiss you?” she asks, knowing that she’s not going to have words that are any kind of useful right now. “Or I mean, if that’s still off the table—”

He interrupts with laughter, shy and fond. “No, that would be alright,” he tells her.

So she kisses him.


	6. in which Mithos touches Kratos at a bad time, and Anna fucking snaps

Quite honestly, Mithos is not doing the greatest he has ever done, after finishing up his conversation with his father. He forgot how much talking to his father pissed him off, and even if Martel is _alive_ she’s not _okay,_ none of this is _okay,_ and the asshole didn’t even fucking give him a straight answer about _why_ he chose Zelos over him and so _Mithos is not doing even close to great, at all._

Though he is a little better, knowing that Martel is alive, even if she is currently fused with a bastard Aegis. He’s not quite off the deep end, but he’s definitely doing furious laps back and forth across the middle of the pool, agitated and. Knowing that he needs to calm down, because he’s probably freaking Lloyd out.

So Mithos does what he always does when he needs to calm down. He goes to find Kratos.

If the Sylvarant military is good for anything, it’s at least that their Special Inquisitor made good on her promise and bought the whole inn out so that besides the staff—which it seems, dear old Morag paid enough of them so that only the bare minimum needed to run the place are even around—Mithos and his traveling party are the only ones in the inn. He finds Kratos and Anna downstairs in the tavern, sitting at a table. The sight of Anna makes Mithos pause long enough—disgust twisting in his core, then guilt, then frustration—that he actually sees what they’re doing. Passing a piece of paper back and forth after writing on it, Kratos laughing silently and Anna laughing louder than that. Mithos hesitates a second longer, marveling at that. Kratos. _Laughing._ Even though yesterday was probably the worst day he’s had in a hundred years.

It occurs to him, vaguely, that that’s Anna’s doing. He should feel relieved, happy, that someone is looking after his brother, that his brother has someone like this in his life. Mostly he just feels annoyed about his father, and grateful that this means Kratos is actually going to be up to talking.

Mithos crosses the room to them, not caring too much that he’s interrupting—Anna can’t get mad if he wants to borrow Kratos, his _brother_. “Hey, Kratos,” he says, once he’s closer, putting a hand on Kratos’ shoulder. “Can we talk?”

And.

He should have expected this, really. He should have expected Kratos immediately flinching away and shoving Mithos’ hand away from him.

But he had absolutely no way of expecting the way Anna is immediately on her feet, the way her arm slams against his chest and the way she throws him bodily back. Mithos staggers, catches himself on a table behind him that Anna all but threw him into. He wants to ask _what the fuck,_ but he knows what the fuck, and guilt tears a little at him because. He should have known better. Laughing or no, totally at ease or no, after yesterday there was no way Kratos could have possibly reacted any other way to being touched, and Mithos wasn’t thinking, and—

Kratos about trips over himself trying to get to his feet, distracting Mithos, and Anna, who’d up until that point looked about ready to yank the knife from her belt and gut Mithos with it. Mithos flinches, still guilty, says—

“Kratos,”

But Anna rounds on him again and spits: “ _Stay the fuck out of this._ ”

“Hey, I know what I’m doing,” Mithos protests, because Kratos is his brother and he’s seen Kratos spiral way worse than this before. But Anna shoots him a glare like death, and then pulls her attention away like he’s not worth arguing with, following Kratos as he sinks to his knees, kneeling beside him.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay. You’re safe, you’re free,” Anna says, like Mithos has said about a million times before. Her voice is gentle, and her hands stay up where Kratos can see them. Looks like she’s done this a million times before, too.

And that makes Mithos—angry, in a way that he can’t explain. It makes sense, of course. As much as the notion disgusts Mithos, Anna is Kratos’ _wife,_ so of course she understands this as well as Mithos does. But that doesn’t mean Mithos _likes_ it, and a part of him reminds him cheerily that it’s not right to be angry at _all_ about this, but he is anyway, as he watches—

As he watches Anna make soothing sounds, as he watches Kratos stop scrambling away and start breathing. “It’s okay, Kratos, it’s okay, just breathe,” Anna continues. “The year’s—fuck. What is it. 24…? No, no, 2508, the Great War ended about four hundred years ago, and you’re—free. You’re fine. We’re at an inn, not far from the border. Morag rented the whole thing out for us, remember?”

And she keeps going like that, keeps reminding Kratos of where they are and what’s going on. Mithos thinks about interjecting— _the sky, Kratos needs to see the sky_ —but the thing is… what Anna’s doing is working. Somehow, _some fucking how,_ it’s working even though it’s nothing like what Mithos would do at all.

“You here, Kratos? Yeah?” Anna says. “I’m going to—count, okay? I want you to try and breathe with me. Like we do. Ready?” And surprisingly, Kratos nods, short and sharp but he _nods,_ and—“Okay. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, _hold_ ,” Anna says, in a steady rhythm, with the ease of someone who’s done this a thousand times before. “Hold. Six five four three two one zero. One two three—”

And she keeps doing that, three times, maybe four. And Kratos. Kratos _listens._ Kratos _breathes._ Mithos watches, somewhat dumbstruck, too frozen to move other than to grip at the table his weight is braced against. The fact that they have a system like this in place at all is incredible, and the fact Kratos is _listening to her_ implies such an incredible amount of trust. For a second, a brief second, Mithos is terribly and violently jealous, because _how could Kratos trust a human more than him,_ but he manages to grip that jealousy and strangle it because he knows _that’s not fair._ It’s good, isn’t it? It’s good, because whatever Anna’s doing, as dumb as it seems, it’s _working._ Kratos starts breathing again, nice and regular and not frantic, starts to uncurl from himself so that he’s less like a clenched fist and more like a trembling hand, which still isn’t ideal but is definitely _better_ and. Mithos is not sure he’s ever gotten Kratos to relax that fast.

Normally. Normally, Mithos sings. Sometimes he’ll talk, first, go through the usual you’re fine we’re fine we’re free look Kratos, we’re free. Usually he’ll try and get Kratos outside to see the sky as fast as he can. But he’ll sing, too, once he’s done all that. He’ll sing the lullaby he learned from his father because he likes its sound its rhythm its lyrics, he’d sing because the sound of his voice singing would ground Kratos, distract Kratos, remind Kratos that this is now and not the past.

Anna doesn’t sing. She talks. She talks and she talks and she talks. She goes over the date again, the year, they’re location, just to make sure Kratos is still aware of it all. She reminds him about Martel, briefly— _fuck, Mithos does not want to think about that_ —and then goes on to talk about something stupid Malos did the day before last, some joke Lloyd told her a week ago, and so on, and so on, all gentle and warm and obviously grounding because Kratos _keeps relaxing._

Mithos says nothing and just watches, trying to wrestle down the jealousy in his core, letting himself stew on the guilt instead, because. Alright. Yeah. He fucked that up. He didn’t think for two seconds that today was a bad day, still, of course it’s still a bad day, and—

He really really hates that it’s _his_ fault Kratos is like this, right now. He kind of wants to step in and help, but he thinks Anna would kill him if he tried. Not to mention the fact that watching how efficient she works, how loving, as she drags her husband out of the terrified spiraling of his mind… It’s kind of mesmerizing. Mithos hates it and is grateful in equal measures.

After a few minutes Kratos relaxes enough that Anna slows down.

“Better?” she asks, and he nods, and so she asks: “How you feeling?”

“Eight,” Kratos replies, shaky, which makes no sense to Mithos but Anna hums like it does to her—the hum understanding, pained, pitying all at once.

“Can I kiss you? Just, on the head,” Anna asks. “Do you think that’d help at all?”

Kratos shakes his head, negative, sharp.

“Okay, okay—you don’t have to apologize!” Anna adds, once she notices Kratos making the sign for sorry, fist rubbing circles over his core again and again and again. “I don’t mind, I promise, I just thought—sometimes it helps, you know. But it’s okay if you don’t think it will right now. That’s why I asked.”

Mithos wonders if it’s safe to move, to speak. He isn’t really sure.

“Hey, are you,” Anna begins. “Do you want me to stay? Until… I dunno, I want to talk to Mithos, but that can wait if you need…”

Kratos shakes his head, gently this time. “I… think I’m going to go outside,” he says, and Mithos cringes at the raw way his voice shapes around the words, like the last thing Kratos’ body wants to be doing is talking right now. “I’ll be okay,” he assures Anna.

“Yeah, good idea,” she tells him, eyes all for him—except the quick glance she sends Mithos’ direction, to make sure he’s still there, which Mithos _doesn’t_ miss. “Get Malos if you think you need company?”

Kratos nods and grunts to show he heard, and then he’s on his feet and makes his way out the door. Mithos absolutely doesn’t miss how Anna moves with him, subtly. She doesn’t follow after him. But she does make sure that she is, at every moment, between him and Mithos.

Mithos’ guilt is briefly snuffed out by his frustration. What is he? Some kind of _threat_!? He’d never _hurt_ Kratos, not on _purpose_!

But once Kratos is gone Anna turns to him like she fully expects he will, a vengeful fire having burned and consumed all the gentleness she’d regarded Kratos with only moments before.

“What the _fuck_ was that, Mithos,” Anna asks, sharp and tight as she gets to her feet.

He doesn’t need her to elaborate. He knows what she’s mad about.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Mithos says, truthfully, and in his defense. He stops cowering, stops leaning on the table to support his weight, makes himself stand tall. Being alone in a room with a _human_ —one who looks quite intent on killing him, honestly—is making him a little queasy, but he’ll stand tall and proud.

“Wasn’t _thinking_?” Anna repeats, deadpan. She takes a step towards him, threat clear in her posture.

“No,” Mithos answers, carefully and clearly. “And I’m sorry.” ( _Even though it’s_ Kratos _he should be apologizing to, not Anna._ ) “I was… distracted, so it didn’t occur to me that it was a bad day until it was too late.”

“It,” Anna begins. “It didn’t…” She’s so frustrated she chokes on the words as she repeats them back, then sends a look heavenward, shaking her head in disbelief, mouth working as she tries to articulate her anger. “Mithos, good day, bad day, doesn’t matter. You should _always_ ask for his permission, first.” She talks as if she cannot believe she has to say this to him. “And what was that touching him when he couldn’t even see you coming shit, anyway? No wonder he had a _fucking panic attack._ ”

Frustration becomes guilt again, and Mithos flinches before he can control himself. Yeah, okay, hindsight? That was a _really_ terrible idea. But… The rest of what Anna’s saying… He scowls, more confused than upset, now.

“Why… would I need to ask?” Mithos asks, bewildered.

Anna gapes at him. And she _keeps_ doing that, staring for almost a full minute. Staring, and nothing else, until.

“Holy _fucking_ shit,” Anna gets out, finally, and she sounds just as bewildered as Mithos feels. Bewildered, and offended. “Mithos, you’re his _brother._ You should _know_ better. Kratos has _issues_ about _being touched._ ”

“Yeah, I know,” Mithos replies, irritable. Of course he knows. “But he only has problems some days—” At this, Anna scoffs in disbelief, for _some fucking reason_ , “—and I leave him alone on the bad ones.”

Mithos is confident in his innocence, here, confident that he’s doing what he needs to. Kratos has _said_ that he’s got good days and bad days, and Mithos is following them accordingly. Yes, there are time where he fucks up, like he did just now, but they’re rare and _usually_ don’t end in Kratos having a panic attack. Honestly, the fact that Anna’s here just threw him off—he doesn’t know how to read Kratos _around her._ Of course he misjudged.

He’s about to tell her as such, but Anna’s still shaking her head, mouth scrunched like she just tasted something foul.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, sharp, before he can say anything at all. “Good days? Bad days? _They don’t matter._ You should _always_ —” and here, she starts punctuating her words by chopping one hand against her other open palm, “— _always_ ask Kratos for permission before you touch him.”

Mithos sneers. “Maybe _you_ do,” he counters.

It’s worth it just to see Anna get so upset there’s a solid minute where she just stops being capable of coherent speech, despite her best efforts. She paces back and forth a few times, about three or four strides each direction, pauses once to grab a table like she’s about to flip it. Mithos wants her to, to be honest. He wants to see if Morag will pay for the damages. It’s all kind of funny, really, up until the point Anna jabs a finger in his face.

“ _Don’t_ ,” she manages, finally. “ _Don’t_ act like you’re _fucking special,_ Mithos, because you’re _not_.”

Growling, Mithos shoves her hand away. “What? And you are?” he counters.

Anna doesn’t move towards him again, at least, but she growls back, her anger hot and sharp. “Get _off_ your fucking high horse, you little bitch,” she spits.

Mithos laughs, startled, then furious. “Like _you’re_ not on one right now? Telling me what to do—”

“I _refuse_ to let you hurt Kratos like that again!!” Anna shouts back, and she has _no_ fucking right shouting at him like that, she has _no_ fucking right _acting like this._ Like, yes, alright, Mithos hates that he sent Kratos into a panic spiral just now, _he hates that,_ but he’s _sorry_ and _Anna does not need to lose her shit about it._ It’s _not_ a _big deal._

“It was an accident!” Mithos argues.

“One that could’ve been easily avoided if you just _asked him_.”

“You’re just mad because Kratos doesn’t trust you enough to be comfortable unless you’ve asked first—”

And Mithos _knows_ that he shouldn’t have said that, knows that he shouldn’t have implied that, knows that he’s stepping on toes when he shouldn’t but _whatever._ Why _would_ Kratos trust Anna, anyway? She’s _human_.

Anna doesn’t look mad, though. Not any madder than she did before. She doesn’t look upset—she looks _resolute,_ actually, in her conviction.

“Kratos trusts me _because_ I ask,” Anna says, as she leans in. Her voice is quiet, her smile proud. “Kratos trust me because he knows he’s _safe_ around me. And he knows he’s _safe_ because he knows I wouldn’t jump any surprises on him that he _didn’t consent to._ ”

Mithos wants to ask her who’s on the high horse _now,_ but they already did that song and dance, so it’s not worth it. Besides, there’s something more important in what she said, a piece of a puzzle that Mithos doesn’t like at all. “ _Safe_?” he asks. Imagine that. Kratos feeling _safe_ with a human. “Like, what? Are you implying _I’m_ dangerous?” How disgusting. “I know when not to touch him—”

“Clearly you don’t,” Anna interjects, bright and furious.

Mithos scowls, but doesn’t let that deter him. “Sometimes I mess up,” he admits. “Are you saying you don’t?”

“I’m saying that what happened just now wouldn’t have happened if you’d _asked,_ ” Anna says, her eyes not once leaving Mithos’ face. It’s hard to stand tall in the wake of all that anger, but Mithos tries, nails digging into the wood of the table behind him to hold himself steady. “And that’s—not even the fucking _point_ here!” Anna shouts. “The _point_ is that you need to ask _always,_ no exceptions, not at all, not ever!”

He wishes she’d stop fucking shouting, but at least she’s not in his face anymore.

He also wishes he understood why she won’t _let it drop._

“Why?” he asks, frustrated, _because_ he doesn’t understand.

“Because it’s _common fucking decency,_ ” Anna answers. “And if you care about Kratos at all, _you’ll respect his boundaries_.”

When she says it like that, it’s like it’s so simple, so obvious, like Mithos is _stupid_ for not realizing it. And—maybe he is? Guilt roils in his core, underneath his frustration at the fact he still feels like he isn’t on the same page, doesn’t understand why Anna is so caught up on this one little thing. She speaks as if he’s committed some terrible kind of sin, but Mithos can’t see the sin at all. And it’s really not fair, considering Kratos…

“He never said this was a problem,” Mithos mumbles, glaring off to the side of Anna, as he sorts through his memories and tries to recall Kratos ever _once_ mentioning this, but he can’t.

Anna sighs, here, weary and—still angry.

“Yeah,” she says, sharp. “Because I’m starting to think he didn’t feel safe enough around you _to_ discuss his boundaries, seeing as you _blatantly ignore them._ ”

“I do not—”

“He wants! To be asked! Before being touched!” Anna interjects, before Mithos can fully articulate any defense for himself. “You keep ignoring that! So, _yes,_ you _are_.”

“He never told me,” Mithos protests, gripping the table tight.

“No, I guess he didn’t,” Anna admits, with an angry shrug, throwing her hands up in brief defeat or exasperation. “Which is _fucked up,_ and I’m- I don’t—He’s an _idiot,_ but…” She trails off for a second here, glaring off to the side, hands grasping like the air before her is the words she cannot quite find to say. Finally she sighs, hoists herself up onto the table behind her and sits there, legs dangling, swinging, fingers drumming on the wood. “You know him, Mithos,” she whispers, exhausted and something more akin to sad, though anger still underpins it. “You know how Kratos will just decide that it’s not worth bothering, how he’ll sit there and say nothing just because it’s easier. And if he- If he _really_ anticipated a conversation about his boundaries ending with you reacting _exactly the way you are now,_ then I can’t blame him for not bringing it up.”

It’s like a slap to the face. Mithos only doesn’t stagger back because his weight is already braced against the table—there’s no further back for him to _go._

If Kratos thought he’d react exactly as he is now—and what’s _wrong_ with how he’s reacting, now? Is he not allowed to be confused, and frustrated because he’s confused? Anna’s got him corned like an animal over something he _does not see the significance of_.

“What,” he says, his chest tight, his ether cold. “Do you mean. What about how I’m reacting, right now?”

Anna sighs at him. She seems to be moving past anger and into proper, bitter exhaustion. “You’re acting like something as simple as me saying you should ask Kratos for permission before you touch him is some _great offense_ ,” she spits, weary. “Tell me in what universe you think Kratos would _want_ to talk to you about his boundaries if he know your reaction would be this?”

Mithos scowls, still not quite on the same page. He thinks Anna’s being unfair, though.

“I just… don’t get why it matters,” he says.

Anna laughs, shaking her head. She runs her hands over her face. “Yeah, that too,” she sighs, which makes even less sense.

“Kratos _knows_ me,” Mithos argues, pushing off from the table and taking a step forward, feeling comfortable enough to do so seeing that Anna’s sitting, unmoving except the fidget of her legs. “Kratos _trusts_ me. He knows I wouldn’t hurt him! I would _never_ hurt him, not on purpose—”

“Oh, sure,” Anna laughs back, bright with her fury as she drops her hands from her face. “Gently grabbing him by the shoulder doesn’t _physically_ hurt him. But you’re still violating his boundaries, and you _know_ the paths his mind takes him down.”

“I mean, yes,” Mithos admits. Of course he knows. Of _course_ he knows. “But Kratos, he’s… fine on the good days. …Isn’t he?”

“There’s a difference between being able to _tolerate_ someone touching you and actually _wanting_ them to do it,” Anna says, like it’s that simple.

Mithos considers this for a long moment. She… has a point, at least there. But Kratos _still_ said he didn’t mind, so—

( _Kratos said he didn’t mind some hundreds of years ago, Mithos knows. That’s a long time either for things to have changed or for Kratos to become better aware of his feelings._ )

“I… guess so,” Mithos says, slowly.

“And Kratos,” Anna continues, happy to keep talking—“You know what they put him through, Mithos. You know what Kvar did to him.” It’s quiet, but it’s still bright with her anger. “Do you think they ever once allowed him to consent? Do you think they _asked,_ before they strapped him down, cut him open? Do you think they _asked,_ before they prodded him with needles, put their hands all over him?”

Mithos flinches. “No,” he mumbles.

“Of course they didn’t.”

Mithos fidgets, hands curling into fists so tight it hurts, where his nails meet his skin. He stands, unmoored, in the room, no anchor except for where his feet meet the ground, and that isn’t nearly enough. He… doesn’t like the comparison Anna is drawing at all.

“But I’m not,” he protests, “I’m not _them._ I’m not like them! I wouldn’t hurt Kratos!”

Anna just shrugs, like his protests mean nothing to her. “You aren’t allowing him to consent,” she argues. “So yeah. You are.”

“I’m _not_ —”

“Kratos—he _needs_ that, Mithos,” Anna interjects, her voice heavy and firm. “He _needs_ to be able to consent, because for so fucking long no one let him. He _needs_ to be able to make a choice, because too many times that privilege was robbed from him.”

“But,” Mithos begins.

Anna won’t hear it.

“I get it, Mithos,” she says, and her smile is not angry, now. There’s understanding there, and her posture as she runs her hands over her knees is kind enough. “Believe me, I _get_ it, probably better than anyone else does, probably better than _you_.” She shrugs, laughs a short laugh, a single mirthful exhale. “You miss him, you want him, you want nothing more than the comfort and the heat of his body pressed up against yours. But he’s. He’s not property,” Anna says. “Not yours or mine. _He_ gets the final say in whether or not we touch him. Not you. Not me. It’s Kratos’ body, it’s Kratos’ choice.”

When… laid out like that, Mithos is starting to see, exactly, the significance of it. Guilt roils in his core and he _hates_ that guilt, _hates_ that Anna keeps talking.

“When you don’t ask,” she continues. “When you don’t have permission, and touch him anyway— _Especially_ because you have rated your wants and needs as more important than his? You are literally just like the humans who experimented on him.”

“That’s not fair,” Mithos protests, but it’s weak, his head hung down. Robbing Kratos of a choice is horrible, _yes,_ but Mithos would never _hurt Kratos_ like those humans hurt him—

( _‘But you know the paths his mind takes him down,’ Anna’s voice repeats, in the back of his mind._ )

Anna shrugs. “Maybe not,” she says. “But it doesn’t change the fact that all it takes to make Kratos not feel like shit is you taking _two seconds to ask,_ and if you don’t want to do that, then you’re _being an asshole, Mithos_. Ask him first next time, or I’ll suplex you.”

Mithos hates that he knows she can and absolutely will make good on that promise.

“He’ll appreciate it, too,” Anna adds, her voice softer. “Trust me. He’ll appreciate it _a lot_.”

Mithos hates, most of all, that he’s _considering a human’s advice._

“Fine, whatever,” he snaps, turning on his heel just so Anna can’t see what his face is doing right now. He doesn’t wait for her to say anything before he stalks out of the room. The conversation was over, anyway. She can’t give him shit for it.

( _Actually, what Mithos hates most of all is this:_

_Anna is right._

_Anna is right, and since she is right, it means that Mithos has been needlessly tormenting Kratos for centuries, and more than that, Kratos did not feel comfortable enough to_ tell him there was a problem.

_Mithos hates Anna, for bringing it up. Mithos hates Kratos, for never saying anything._

_Mithos hates, most of all, himself._ )


End file.
